


A Monstrous Undertaking

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Series: Paternoster Row: the spinoff [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1387270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Jenny & Vastra origin story, taking our heroines from their early days through their Doctor Who debut in A Good Man Goes to War. </p>
<p>Strange creatures, half-man and half-beast, stalk the streets of London. Can circus performer-turned-detective Vastra and ladies' maid-turned-adventurer Jenny Flint solve this ghastly mystery?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Monstrous Undertaking

**Author's Note:**

> I'm structuring this series of stories more or less as a TV spinoff might be, so it may help if you think of this as the special series premiere (airing just after AGMGTW), since it will be a lot longer than usual 'episodes.' I have at least one season of ten episodes written to follow this, plus two more seasons roughly planned out, and depending on the muse, there may well be more. I hope my readers forgive my arrogance for thinking that I can write such a thing (note the title!), though I am more than happy for others to take up the mantle as well.
> 
> I'm afraid you'll just have to imagine characters' accents, as I lack the ability to put them on page accurately. 
> 
> Finally, I usually do not write flat-out adventures (as opposed to porn or fluff), since I usually assume that the BBC should have the market on that. However, if they aren't going to pursue a spinoff, then they leave the fans no choice.

They screamed and called me monster. They struck me, swore at me, spat at me, called me a devil from Hell itself. I saw their faces, twisted with fear and hate in the dim, shaking light.

So I killed them all. The first three fell in seconds to my blades. The fourth tried in vain to grapple with me; I snapped his neck like a worthless twig. I struck down the last with my tongue as he fled. 

Alone at last, then. Alone with dead enemies and dead sisters. Hibernation pod damaged beyond repair and no extras: I was truly cut off from my people. I scowled at the dead apes whose blundering had murdered my kin. I wiped the blood from my swords and sheathed them. Very well, then: a campaign of revenge and survival, hate and fear and desperation. Was I not an officer in the Special Commandos, trained to live with no supplies beyond what could be foraged or stolen? I could live for centuries...and still never slay enough apes. It was a joyless prospect, though I saw few alternatives.

It was then that I heard a sound that changed my life as, I learned, it had changed so many. A magical noise, a miraculous noise, if one is inclined to such superstition, but certainly a sound of wonder. The sound of the TARDIS.

“Ah, the center of Victorian London!” cried one of the apes: tall, thin, male, and being slowly strangled by a strange bit of cloth around his neck. I observed them from behind an outcropping of rock.

“Ahem,” coughed the other, female, sensibly dressed in boots, trousers, short jacket, and weapons' belt.

“No! The directional circuits should be working perfectly! I just adjusted them!”

“Before or after I adjusted them?” 

“Ha-ha, River.” The first ape dashed back inside the strange box, frowning. “Come on, Sexy, behave,” his voice echoed from inside the box: how big was it? “Oh...you are behaving.” He stepped back outside and pulled the door shut behind him. “Good news! We're in the center of Victorian London! Bad news! We're underground. Well, actually, we're in the Underground. Well, technically, we're in what will one day become part of the London Underground.” He squinted and licked part of the stone wall. “Maybe. Bit deep for the Underground, and, if I'm not mistaken, a smidge southwest.”

“Sweetie, you never cease to amaze.” Her eyes rolled. “Well, come on then. Sights to see, people to meet, hotel rooms to rent.” She gave the strange piece of cloth a meaningful tweak at this last comment, and turned up the tunnel near where I had hid, and where I had slaughtered the apes. “Honey? Last time I checked, miners for the Underground weren't getting murdered by katanas.”

“No,” the male said, producing a strange green and copper device. “Not if they can help it. And certainly not by Silurian venom.” The green light from the device glinted off the hibernation capsules. “Ah,” he noted quietly. “Look, whoever you are, there's been enough blood spilled on both sides. I don't want revenge; these aren't my people. Please, I'm a Time Lord: I can't make this right...but I can help you.”

The name Time Lord sounded familiar—our people had legends about aliens, powerful beyond belief despite their puny, ape-like appearance, masters of time and space. Perhaps he could take me to the future, when my species arose from its slumber. He certainly seemed willing and able to help me. A wise warrior knows when to withdraw, and when to make alliances. With a reluctant hiss, I stepped forward from my hiding place, hands open but reflexes keen. 

“Hello,” he said. “I'm the Doctor, and this is River. She probably won't shoot you unless you do something dangerous. Nice to meet you, though I might wish it was under somewhat less bloody circumstances. I'm so very sorry, by the way.” He extended a hand as he tucked away the strange device; I bared my teeth a it. “Never mind, then; what's your name?”

“Vastra.” 

“Look, Vastra, you've been wronged, yes, and badly. But you also killed some people, and that stops now. You've had your vengeance; leave the rest of the city alone. I love Silurians, really I do, which is why I'm giving you a chance to live in peace, and leave the past in the past.”

“Really he does,” the female—River—chimed in. “Some days I question his devotion.” She playfully nipped on his ear. Ah, I thought. They are mates.

“River, might not be the best time for flirting.”

“It's always a good time for flirting.” She smiled deliciously and stroked the Doctor's arm. “Come on, Vastra, you don't really want to spend the rest of that long life alone and angry, do you? I'll get you some clothes from the wardrobe—a nice dress, and a veil, I think—while my hubby takes care of the boring details like flying back to 1711, borrowing a pound or two, depositing it in a reputable bank, and letting compound interest do the rest. I'm sure we've got something that's just your size.” I accepted her offer (which was somehow very difficult to refuse; certainly it did not hurt that I suspected that she was more than a match for me in a fair fight) and she turned back to the Doctor. “I told you it was a good time for flirting.”

“Alright, yes, but we've got to seal up this tunnel; plenty of dynamite about. It's wrong...” I didn't get to hear the rest of the Doctor's rambling theorizing as River led me away into the mystical time machine.

She guided me back out of the TARDIS, as she named it, into the daylight, my swords and my old clothes bundled under a cloak. The Doctor was babbling again. “Right, I've got you a bank account, dynamited that tunnel, fixed the maps so they'll never know there was a cavern there, and lined you up some work. Vastra, meet Henry Gordon Jago. Old friend of mine, even if he doesn't know it yet.” He grinned like an idiot monkey. Mr. Jago, as the Doctor explained, was the hiring agent for the circus of one Pablo Fanque, and that I would be displayed for entertainment purposes, perhaps perform a few stunts, and paid a fair wage.

“I hope there won't be any problems,” the young ape Jago began, then hesitated. “Since Mr. Fanque is a Negro.”

“Is this another breed of ape?” I hissed in River's ear.

River blinked, then laughed. “People these days might agree with that assessment. But I tend to think the only difference is that he has darker skin than most.”

I shrugged. What did it matter to me how the apes distinguished among themselves? They were all inferior gorillas anyway. “I accept your offer of employment,” I told Jago. 

“Brilliant! So much easier than the last three times!” the Doctor said, and before I could press him on this statement, he continued, all at once, “Now that that's settled, River and I must be off. Things to investigate and all that.” He drew me into an embrace of farewell. “Without my help, sooner or later you'd have been hunted down like a dog,” he whispered, voice suddenly, impossibly hard. Was this the same carefree, bumbling youth as before? “You owe me your life, Vastra, and you know it. Think about it honestly; you're an honorable Silurian warrior. You owe me a debt and you start repaying it today. Do good. Help those in need. Be extraordinary.” With these last words, he was gone, vanished with River into the shadows. 

And so passed the next five years. I led a double life. By day, I was Madame Vastra, refugee from the Duchy of Siluria (I was always deliberately vague about its exact location and affiliation, mostly because I was insufficiently familiar with Europe and its politics to make a better lie), living off of a small inheritance and what work I could find, scarred in the revolts that drove me from my homeland. By night, I was the Dragon Queen. My looks alone were enough to draw a crowd, but my excellent hand-eye coordination allowed me to juggle large numbers of small objects or throw knives at painted pieces of wood. I wisely refrained from using my tongue in these displays: best to keep up the facade of ape-hood, degrading though it may be. Still, the pay was good, and after using much of the money in my account to purchase permanent lodgings, my nest egg was beginning to grow once more, though I had no money to spare for anything else. I had friends, or at least polite acquaintances, among my fellow performers (even if they were apes). Children would cheer for me when I appeared. From time to time, the Doctor would drop by: sometimes with River, sometimes alone, sometimes with a young woman with red hair and a young, quiet man. He would often ask for my help, and then save my life again (though just as often I would save his). We grew to respect one another, and eventually he became the closest person I had to a friend. It took me somewhat longer to discern that, for all that he reveled in the company of his other friends, that I understood him in his isolation better than those he would call his closest friends and lovers. Still, something usually seemed to be distracting him.

It was not always to be, and perhaps it was for the best. One night, as I walked home from the circus, mind wandering, my reverie was broken by a piercing cry. My mind heard it at once as both the yell of a warrior in need and of a child to protect. I am almost ashamed to say that the fact that it was an ape's voice did not come into play. I had rescued strangers from their attackers before, though before I had rather grudgingly justified it to myself on the bases of my need to keep in shape and my oath to the Doctor. Tonight, for some reason, I leapt gladly into the fray. Three strange creatures haranguing a small girl-child, with the strange pale skin so common among these apes and dark fur on her head. I launched in to attack, wishing that I could carry my blades openly. Alas, they were back at my home, hidden safely away. The ape-girl's eyes locked with mine, and instead of screaming again, ran away as fast as she could. I was not so fortunate, and a blow to my head left me unconscious.

When next I awoke, I could hear a woman's voice. “She will not do for my experiments; I have no other samples against which to compare her. But she will serve as an attraction as well as any of the others. And she'll keep in case I can find another.” I was in a cage, guarded by creatures which seemed to be half-ape, half-beast, under the supervision not of the woman whose voice I had heard, but of a man billing himself as Frezzini, and we as Frezzini's Freaks. Such was my condition for the next year: caged, displayed, and gasped at. Scarcely fed and given no incentive to move, I fear my muscles and skills atrophied. So too, did my patience for these apes.

***

There I lingered for one year. But not a day longer. 

There was a new exhibit, an ape girl they advertised as “Princess Chakra of the Far Indies.” Unlike the others, she appeared to be entirely ape, and not mixed with other animals. There had been one or two I thought might have been like me, but alas, they were merely the combination of an ape and a crocodile or a serpent, and no longer had the base intelligence of an ape, let alone a Silurian. 

“Hello,” I said at last.

Her eyes widened. “Hello?” she replied, accent strange even by the standards of the apes.

“I am Vastra,” I told her.

“I'm Anaya,” she replied. “Not Princess Chakra, and not from the Far Indies, just as you, I suspect, are not 'The Terrible Lizard Lady.' I might wish, though: I was born here, poor as dirt.”

“So was I. So to speak.”

“You're not one of them?” She gestured at the half-ape guards. 

“No.”

“You're not going to hurt me?”

“No.” The guards could be violent from time to time. Sometimes I was glad for the cage. But not usually.

“Can we get out of here?”

“No.” I paused. That question deserved more of a response, even from an ape. “There are too many for me to fight unarmed. And there would be more if I tried to break out of this cage.”

“But if there was something to distract the guards?” There was a certain weight to the way she asked the question, and I turned slowly to follow her eyes. “I'm not the only new arrival,” she continued. Behind me was a very large, evidently very powerful half-beast being wrestled into the next cage over by half a dozen of the guards. 

A plan formed in an instant. “Get ready,” I told her, and my tongue flicked out to strike the nearest guard. Anaya screamed as the great beast broke free, flinging one of the other guards against the bars of my cage with enough force to badly bend them. The guard, at least, died quickly, but I had no time to spare him more than a cursory thought as I wriggled through the new opening in the bars, suddenly grateful for my poor diet. Another guard came up with a crude ape firearm; I felled him with a single blow and used the weapon to blast the lock from Anaya's cage, then the other locks as well. Hopefully, the other beasts would cause enough of a distraction to allow us to escape unnoticed. “Come, quickly,” I called, and the ape girl kept close behind me, and we vanished into the night.

“Where are we going?” Anaya asked.

“I have a home not too far from here.” I paused. “Why are you following me?” 

“Because my parents are dead. Home with you beats living on the street.”

“I take your point.” We soon reached my old house, rather in disrepair now, only to be greeted by an ape youth with a rifle.

“What are you doing here?”

“This is my home,” I explained.

“Not for the past year, it hasn't been. I've as good a claim as any these past few months.”

“Please, we--” As I stepped forward into the light, the ape youth gasped.

“You...” He lowered the rifle, then tossed it aside. “Not loaded. Can't afford the bullets. Might as well come in, have a spot of tea. Reckon we've got stories to tell,” he concluded, pulling off his cap to reveal long, dark fur on his—her head

***

They screamed and called me monster. They struck me, swore at me, spat at me, called me a devil from Hell itself. I saw their faces, twisted with fear and hate in the dim, shaking light.

So I ran and ran, out into the rain. I left them all behind: family, friends, the local vicar who'd always been so kind. And all for what? That I like wearing trousers? That I liked letting a girl's fingers into those trousers from time to time? Hardly seemed worth getting into much of a fuss over. 

So I was alone, then. Have a good cry in this alley til my face dried and the rain cleared up, then see about finding work, maybe pinching a set of men's clothes. Men's work paid better, and I was more than tough enough, sure I was. 

Until then, maybe I could find work as a maid. I'd done that before, and it beat risking phossy jaw in the match factories. I'd done that, too, but fortunately not for very long. 

Luckily, I caught on quickly enough with Lady Rani's household, up on Paternoster Row. Pay was good and included lodging and meals, but there were few applicants. That should have been my first clue. 

“Why do you want to work for me?” Lady Rani asked. “Be honest,” she added, circling back around to face me. As her eyes locked onto mine, I knew I would have no choice. Though it was just the two of us in her sitting-room, I felt as though I was on display for all of London to see. As though I was being put on trial. As though God himself was looking through my soul. Except she was just one ordinary woman: wasn't she? She certainly looked it: short blonde hair, elegantly dressed.

“Because it's the best place I can find. Especially on short notice.”

“Why short notice?” She stood back, the better to take me in. Yes, I thought, something off about her.

“Kicked out of my parents' house.”

“Why?” Lady Rani leaned forward, motioning for me to continue.

“Got caught kissing a girl while I was wearing trousers,” I blurted out.

She drew closer, fingers brushing my hair back from my ears. “Yes, yes...I can see it. I can definitely see it.” Her lips dragged along my neck. “You'd make a very pretty boy, Jenny. Would you like to get caught kissing me?” She laughed. “Don't answer that; not on a first date.” I stood, trying hard not to collapse. “Go change into your uniform and find your room.” Well, something off indeed. But I'd never smelled anything strange about any of the girls I'd been with.

I was told to clean only where I was specifically ordered, of course. But the house was large and had many passages, and, quite frankly, it was easy to get lost even if one wasn't curious by nature. And so I snuck down the stairs into the cellar, through the unlocked door. It was neater than I might have imagined. Hardly any dust and grime for a place that had never had a maid sent down since I'd been there. It took me some time to realize that the lights were electric instead of gas—I'd rarely seen one of the new electric lights. But they were hardly the most fantastic items in the cellar.

All sorts of strange devices, the metal reflecting the eerily bright light back into my eyes, doubly strange since I'd expected the room to be dark. Metal tables and strange machines; tall, steel cabinets and racks of equipment. And cages. So many cages. Some of them with people inside, some with strange beasts inside; some beasts outside of the cages. I heard a strange noise coming from one of the cabinets, which opened to reveal the Lady Rani. I yelped with surprise into my hand, but it was too late, and I ran and ran.

They came after me, three of the beasts. Strange proportions, but longer legs than mine, and they soon caught me. I screamed and tried to fight, but I scarcely stood a chance. That's when she arrived. Strange to say her skin was scaly green; stranger still she wore a dress. Is it queer to say I thought she was beautiful?

I wish I had stayed—I wish I could have stayed. I wish I could have done anything. Instead I ran until I smashed into a strange, tall man in a tweed jacket and bow tie. 

“Hello, you! I'm the Doctor, by the way. Are we running for a reason? I certainly do fancy a good run from time to time, though usually I like to know why.” I glanced over my shoulder; two of the beasts were chasing after me. “Right, good reason. Come on, then. Can set you up with a friend of mine.”

***

“We ran, dodging through the alleys until we lost them and reached this house. Proper merry chase we led them on,” Jenny laughed. “The Doctor left when I told him that you had helped me. Told me to take care of myself and do good. Figured that was the least I can do, since he saved my life. I've been here ever since.” Jenny shrugged. “I was helped out by a spot of good luck for me, bad luck for him. Young fellow washed up on the riverbank, dead. Didn't look quite human, but his clothes did, and they fit me well enough once they'd dried out. Almost seems like there's someone out to get me...and someone else looking out for me. Maybe that Doctor fellow, maybe not.”

Vastra and Anaya traded looks. “Can you tell us where this house is?” Vastra began. “I need to find my swords. And then I believe I have a score to settle...”

“Begging your pardon, ma'am, but there's more to it than that.” Vastra blinked. “I've a keen eye for folks, working as a maid.”

Vastra bit back a curse. “The Doctor helped me as well, long ago, and the favor still needs repaying.” Jenny nodded.

“I'm coming with you, then,” Jenny replied. “I can show you how to get in.” And I've got fears to face, she thought. 

“And I'm certainly not staying here by m'self,” Anaya added.

“Very well,” Vastra said, prying up the hidden panel in the back of the closet. “Though I shall not require any assistance from you apes.”

“You actually have swords? Real, gorgeous swords?” Jenny asked as Vastra belted them on over her dress. “By the way, aren't you going to change?”

“Don't be silly, I haven't got time,” Vastra replied as they followed Jenny through the smoky streets. 

“I'm right jealous: fancy dress and swords. Might even forgive that ape talk for one of them...”

“I have swords because I have spent decades learning to use them,” Vastra countered as they reached Paternoster Row. “Where to now?”

“Around back, through the greenhouse.” Vastra smashed a pane of glass and unlocked the door.

“I usually prefer more elegant methods,” she remarked. “But now I fear we must be swift. I fear your former employer's experiments may be on the loose. I only hope she confined herself to the animal kingdom.”

“You don't mean?..” Jenny pulled away from the choking, tropical plant life. “This stuff might be out to get us?”

“Well, at least not that tree,” Vastra noted. “It's quite harmless and still in its natural state.”

“How can you tell?” Jenny asked. “I've never seen anything like that round these parts.”

Vastra ran taloned fingers along its fronds. “I used to sleep under trees such as these when I was but a girl. I fear they have since died out.”

Jenny narrowed her eyes. “And how long ago was that?”

“Millions of years ago.”

“You don't look that old.” Vastra hissed, and the trio filed on in silence for a long moment.

The silence was swiftly broken as two half-beasts broke in upon them. Vastra's nostrils flared as she drew her swords. “Run!” she cried, waiting for the first of their foes to attack, as Jenny and Anaya plunged on into darkness. 

“I have to go back,” Jenny said once they had reached a small clearing near the glass wall. She threw an empty pot through another windowpane. “Get out of here, get Scotland Yard, get anyone who will listen.” She picked up a machete and turned back towards Vastra. “Go!” she called over her shoulder. “Saved me life once,” she whispered. “Overdue to repay the favor.”

Jenny retraced her clumsy path through the broken foliage easily enough. One of Vastra's assailants lay dead at her feet; the other was struggling to break free from what appeared to be a prodigious Venus fly-trap. The plant's vines held Vastra tight; evidently she was to be the next course. “There you are, ma'am,” Jenny said, out-of-breath and hiding the urge to scream under her good nature. “Bit of pruning, then?” She produced the machete and went to work. 

Vastra stared daggers at her as Jenny worked. “Lucky I don't need decades of training for this, then?”

“Yes,” Vastra allowed at last. “Much as I enjoyed the opportunity to savor some relics of my past here...I would prefer they not return the favor.” Jenny laughed as she followed Vastra through the greenhouse into the main hall; the Silurian wasn't sure why the strange noise made her smile, but she was glad Jenny could not see her nonetheless.

“Come on,” Jenny said, retaking the lead. “The basement is this way.” A kick from Vastra shattered the door. “Maybe I'll just learn how to pick locks,” Jenny mused as she stole down the stairs.

“See how many of them are still fully ape,” Vastra whispered. “I would prefer not to wake trouble.”

“They all look like humans,” Jenny corrected.

Vastra nodded. “They must have brought down a shipment to the freakshow today. There must be something we can use to open the cages here...” She rifled through the equipment.

“So much for your fancy science,” Jenny scoffed.

“Science is largely the province of men among my people,” Vastra said, frowning. “I know as much as I do because I dabble in my spare time.”

“Some things never change.” Jenny rolled her eyes.

“Women, on the other hand, commonly take up the art of war.”

Jenny's eyes glittered, and they reflected the light of the laser cutter that Vastra found. “Take this, ape-girl. Be careful! I will try to find another. Fortunately, this is quite a marvelous set-up.”

“Glad this stuff is good for more than ghastly experiments,” Jenny huffed. 

Jenny had opened the last cage when the lights came up bright. She pulled the last prisoner down with her. “What's your name?” she asked the girl.

“Nellie.”

“I'm Jenny. Now stay down,” she whispered, and moved up into a crouch, laser cutter in one hand and machete in the other. She peered up over the table as Lady Rani stepped into view.

“You again,” she began, producing an ugly-looking device which was obviously some sort of pistol. “Haven't you caused me enough trouble?” She snarled. “I barely managed to get things at Frezzini's under control when my alarms went off.” She leveled the pistol at Vastra, who sheathed her swords. “And now you've cost me test subjects.” Jenny, who had been creeping closer, chose that moment to attack, and managed to destroy the pistol with the laser cutter. But in the struggle, Lady Rani wrested the machete away from her, and held her close, blade against her throat. “But I suppose I can partially forgive that, since you've brought me a strong, young replacement. And so very pretty...” Vastra bared her teeth.

“Nobody move,” belted a new, feminine voice. “I've always wanted to say that,” River said, aiming a pair of old-fashioned six-shooters at Lady Rani. “Makes such a nice change from the usual state of affairs, don't you think? Don't you think?” she echoed as the Doctor, with Anaya standing behind him, stood speechless.

“You,” he managed at last. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

“Oh, Doctor, don't you recognize your old friend from the Academy?”

“You can't...you can't be the Rani.” 

Anaya giggled at this. “Of course she isn't the queen; Victoria is the queen.”

“Bloody translation field,” he muttered. “No, her name is the Rani, like how I'm the Doctor. I knew there was something strange going on in this time zone from the moment I found Vastra. Knew someone was tunneling where they shouldn't be. Thought it might have something to do with the reports of half-human, half-animal corpses showing up from time to time, but that was a guess. Can't say I expected this; can't say I was looking for you. Though, in all fairness, I thought you were dead.”

The Rani rolled her eyes. “Did you really think that you and the Master were the only people in the galaxy with Chameleon Arches? The Time Lords begged me to come back, offered me a full pardon from my exile during the height of the Time War. Very generous budget and excellent facilities. It really was very tempting. But they wanted to take my TARDIS away and send her to the front, while keeping me behind to build their weapons.” Her lip crinkled. “That was really the worst bit, the prospect of having to do what I was told, no time for my own experiments, no chance to steal out in my TARDIS for a research expedition.” She shook her head; the machete drew a tiny bead of blood from Jenny's throat. “I really couldn't let myself get tied down like that,” she admitted. “So I set my TARDIS on random and disguised myself as a human for a few years.”

“Not the prospect of developing terrible weapons that drove you away? The fear that our silly war would tear reality apart?” The Doctor snorted; the Rani merely shrugged. 

“Ethics have as much place in war as they do in science; the Time Lords can pursue their passion freely if they leave me to mine. Which is exactly what you're going to do, Doctor. Or I'll kill the girl.” 

The Doctor shook his head slowly. “Not going to happen?”

“Or what? Your trained assassin will gun me down? How many regenerations do I have left, Doctor? How long has it been? Can you risk being the last one left...again? And what about you?” she continued, turning to Vastra. “Also so very alone. But I can change that. Can take you back to your own time, or fix your pod, or even wake up your kinfolk to join you. Might even spare the girl, if she means anything to you.”

“Do not speak to me of apes,” Vastra scorned the Rani. “I have no love of their stinking fur, of their primitive technology, of their violent habits. Do not trouble me with their fleshy bodies, their crude civilizations, or their terrified little minds.” As she spoke, she drew closer to the Rani. “But no-one keeps me as a caged beast and goes unavenged,” and as she said this her tongue whipped out and knocked the machete from the Rani's hand. A second later, Vastra closed the distance herself and pulled Jenny away with one hand while brandishing a sword with the other. “I agree that ethics has the same place in war as in science. Which is why I am not cutting down an unarmed foe. Or, to put it in terms you can understand, conducting an experiment as to whether you can regenerate once your head has been removed from your body. Now leave this place. And do not return.”

The Rani looked into Vastra's eyes and saw no bluffing there. “I'm a scientist, not a warrior.” She shot a meaningful glance at the Doctor, who twitched. “Those who are on the forefront of discovery are often ostracized and forced to relocate. I, at least, am fortunate enough to retain my true home.” Head high, she returned to her TARDIS, and it dematerialized. 

“Let her go,” the Doctor said as she backed away. “Just as I thought,” he noted, examining a piece of equipment, “a temporal cloak. Should prevent her—or any other time machine—from landing in a quarter-mile radius. Explains why we couldn't get any closer.” He turned to Vastra and kissed her. “You were marvelous!” he got out just before she slugged him.

“He's ever so bad at learning from his mistakes some times,” River whispered to Anaya. “Bit charming in a daft sort of way.”

“Right!” the Doctor said, rubbing his bruised jaw. “Ow, by the way. I need to make sure there isn't anything else here that's too dangerous.”

“Perhaps I can help with that?” an unfamiliar male voice offered. He worked his way down the stairs wearing pajamas and handcuffs. 

“Who are you?” River asked, spinning to protect Anaya, then lowering her pistols when she realized the man was no threat.

“Please, Lady Rani kept me as her slave, to assist her with her experiments. I heard the commotion, and found the guards dead or incapacitated, so I came down here when I saw the lights were on. I'm a man of learning and science; I mean you no harm.” He took a deep breath as the Doctor removed the handcuffs. “I'm Dr. Arthur Conan Doyle.” 

River's eyes widened. “Sweetie, you shouldn't have! This is rather exciting, isn't it? Definitely worth being pulled away from our date in the Wild West.” 

“Right, Arthur, you and I are going to go over this lab and figure out what all this stuff is, and maybe see if there's a way to reverse what the Rani is up to.”

“Come on, then, girls,” River said, reloading her guns with tranquilizer rounds, “we've got ourselves some people to round up.”

“And keep away from Torchwood!” the Doctor called after them. “Nasty bunch, mostly.”

***

“So, have you ladies given any thought, to, say, having adventures together? Maybe solving mysteries?” River asked coyly. “You could probably set up shop in the Rani's house, now that it's abandoned; it would keep you—and whatever technology she has in there—out of a lot of trouble.”

Jenny and Vastra exchanged a look. “I must admit that after my most recent experiences, the prospect of working in a circus again is rather lackluster. And,” Vastra added as they ran, “it feels good to stretch my limbs in the hunt once more.”

“I don't know that I want to work with you. After what you said, that is.” Jenny hesitated. Her hand slipped down to the machete tucked into her belt. “Would you have let her kill me, just like that? Do I really mean so little?”

“You saved my life, little ape. Such a debt is not easily forgotten. And...you are cleverer and kinder than most, I think. You would not make bad company. But I still do not require an assistant.”

Jenny snorted. “If nothing else, you'll need a housekeeper to help you with that great big manor. And someone to teach you how to move through high society.”

“That seems likely.”

“On one condition: you teach me how to fight with those swords.”

Anaya and Nellie coughed meaningfully, in unison. “I suppose you will want to be put on the payroll as well?” Vastra asked, rolling her eyes.

“Not as such,” Anaya began.

“But you'll need eyes and ears throughout the city.”

“It's an awful big place, after all. And you might need help from time to time.”

“If Jenny is sufficient to guide me through the upper classes, surely one of you is enough as to the lower classes,” Vastra teased, but the conclusion was practically foregone.

“To be fair, there are a great many more of the poor than there are of the rich,” Nellie pointed out.

“Very well. A network of spies would most likely prove fruitful.” Vastra grinned. They were nearly there, now. Just one more turn.

“Oh my,” Jenny said. The big tent was collapsed and burning. Two figures stood silhouetted against the flames. The glint of metal hung from their sides, one male and one female. 

“We've got things taken care of, folks,” the man began. “Or at least, we had.”

“Don't try it,” River advised him as he reached for his gun. Both strangers moved their hands meaningfully away from their sides. 

The woman rolled her eyes. “Are you visiting from Cardiff, then? Torchwood Three's always so bloody trigger-happy.”

“You're Torchwood, then?” River asked, and the others backed slowly away.

“You're not?” the man replied.

“Not important who I am,” River told them. “But this lot is under my protection.” 

“Don't worry,” the man said. “As long as that one,” he nodded towards Vastra, “stays out of sight and doesn't cause trouble, we aren't going to go tracking her down.” There was just a hint of menace in the words. Vastra wondered what qualified as trouble. He doffed his hat to run his fingers through bushy blond hair. “Lord knows we're understaffed for as big a city as London is. And we're still not even sure if her kind count as British subjects or not.”

“Come to think of it, we could use the help; I'm Eliza, and this is Robert.” Everyone else bristled at the offer. “Never mind, then,” she said, a touch abashed. “Just thought we could set you up with some work, give you a place to stay.”

“I have spent enough time in a cage, thank you,” Vastra's voice was icy, and they all turned back toward the smouldering remains of the tent.

“What's all that then?” Jenny asked, pointing towards the fire.

“We've been running an investigation into that circus for some time now; there had been some traces of alien energy.” The woman produced a bulky scanning device. “So when we heard about the uproar, we came running.” She shook her head. “Most everyone in there was dead. Two tried to attack us, and we had to put them down.” Vastra bristled at that turn of phrase. “That's just clean-up, now. Tragic, I suppose.” She turned back to her companion. “Time we were never here.”

“How can they do things like that? Just burn all the evidence?” Jenny asked as the two Torchwood operatives withdrew. 

“For Queen and country,” River remarked. The uneasy silence was broken by a boy's cough.

The quartet whirled; a small boy, about Anaya and Nellie's age, but with some of the features of a dog and an ox, cowered in the shadows. “Can you help me?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” River said. Neither she nor her husband were any good at resisting children. “Come here, honey, we won't hurt you. What's your name?”

"Henry,” he said. 

“Is there anyone you live with, Henry?” He shook his head. “Come along, then,” River said. “A friend of mine might be able to help you, make you whole again. Would you like that?” He nodded vigorously, and followed them back to the Rani's now-abandoned home.

***

“Just about finished, then,” the Doctor said, whirling about as the others filed somberly down the steps. “Where are the others?” he asked, voice limp, hands limp. 

“There aren't any others,” Jenny framed. She glances at the three children, then back at the Doctor. “Maybe,” her voice catches, “maybe some of them got away.”

“Come on,” Henry said. “We're not in school anymore. They're dead. I was there.” 

“Well,” the Doctor said, evenly. “Let's try to help you, then.” Tears pooled in the corners of both their eyes as Henry climbed up onto a table. “This is Doctor Doyle, and I'm...Doctor Smith. And if we're very lucky, maybe we can make things right. River, I might need your help. The rest of you...just, go upstairs, please.”

Half an hour passed in silence, then another in idle chatter. “So, were you serious?” Jenny asked. “About the lot of us working together? Solving crimes and fighting monsters?”

“Sounds more exciting than just sitting around,” Nellie quipped. “A life of adventure for me.” Her tone is strangely wistful for one so young.

“I suspect we may not have a choice,” Vastra said at last. “We have attracted the notice of powerful people who may wish us harm in the Rani and in Torchwood, assuming what the Doctor says is correct. I have often known him to lie; I have never known him to be wrong.” Her fingertips idly traced the patterns of her scales. “Did you keep that machete, Jenny? I expect we will need to clear out much of the greenhouse in the morning.”

“The Doctor says it's done,” Doyle said, stepping out from the shadows of the door. “I didn't want to interrupt, and I couldn't help but overhear your conversation.” Vastra and Jenny skewered him at once with their eyes. “You see, I've been thinking of writing a book, or a series of books, maybe, and I was wondering if I could base them on the two of you—very loosely, of course!” he added hastily. “I obviously understand your desire for privacy. But if I might tag along, borrow some concepts from your adventures—even just seeing how you operate would give me plentiful soil for the fruits of my imagination.” He wrung his hands. “Please?”

Vastra rolled her eyes. “If nothing else, his medical expertise and contacts may prove useful. Very well, now come, let us see Henry. I suspect I shall be adding another member to my non-existent spy network.” Anaya and Nellie blushed.

“See,” Doyle called after them, “a team of child spies! That's the sort of detail I mean!” He fell silent as they returned to the basement. Henry was heavily bandaged and unconscious, but from what they saw of his face, arms, and torso, he was fully human.

“He'll be scarred for the rest of his life,” the Doctor said at last. “He's sedated now, but he'll be fine in the morning. As fine as he can be.” They could tell that he wants badly to slump, but that he dares not. “Come on, River. Date in the Wild West. You lot carry on, then. Take care of Henry and all that. Bye, all.” They all nodded, and Doyle and Jenny carried Henry up to a proper bed where he could spend the night. 

In the early morning, Henry woke. Anaya and Nellie began making breakfast and tending the boy's wounds. Doyle got an early start on getting his life back. And Vastra was teaching Jenny how to breathe, and how to stand. “Footwork always comes first,” Vastra said. “Ordinarily you would spend months before you would even touch a blade. But unfortunately, I suspect I will need your help clearing the greenhouse in the afternoon, so you will be learning a few very basic cuts earlier than I would like.” Jenny wasn't sure whether to be happier about the prospect of learning to use a sword, or the fact that Vastra acknowledged that she might need her help. They had a very late breakfast, followed by a very late lunch, and when they finally sat down for their very late dinner, Jenny was more sore than she could ever remember being. But she was also happier than she had been in quite some time, and hot food on the table to boot.

“So,” Vastra said between hasty bites of mutton, “in exchange for your services as a housekeeper and...investigative assistant, I will provide you with room, board, necessary training, uniform, and a regular salary.” Vastra had no qualms about making this offer; she planned to sell her old lodgings to provide the initial capital for their detective venture, and she was quite confident that they would soon have plenty of work. Jenny agreed to the terms at once. “As for the three of you,” for Henry was now able to sit upright, and drink quite a bit of broth, and had been talking rather excitedly through the day with Anaya and Nellie, “I expect our arrangement will be a bit more...peculiar. The odd coin or treat in exchange for information, or for bringing a case to my attention, or the completion of a certain task.” The three youngsters exchanged looks, and each nodded in turn. 

Doyle returned the next day, a broad grin on his face. “I believe, ladies, that I have found you your first case.” 

The murder was perplexing at first, but Vastra soon unraveled the mess. “Americans and their strange cults,” she scoffed. 

***

Jenny was always busy: when she was not learning how to run a house single-handedly, she was practicing her swordsmanship. When she could spare the time from that, she would assist Vastra in the field, including how to navigate social niceties. Between cases she practiced her ciphering (she wanted badly to learn to read better, but the bills had to be paid, and she found enough excitement in her day-to-day life. Penny dreadfuls would have to wait). Indeed, Jenny was fast becoming grateful for the times at the end of the day when she and Vastra could simply sit and talk about the day's events, or whatever else was on their minds, until it grew late, and Jenny would help Vastra out of her dress, and each woman would go to her own bed. 

Vastra, for her part, took the lead on most of their investigations. Thanks to Jenny's clever handiwork with some thinly draped silk, she was able to cultivate a persona as Madame Vastra, the Veiled Detective: foreign, female, exotic, scandalous...but brilliant, and willing to hear any case or complaint. Her Peculiars, as she now called them, brought her cases from far and wide, high and low. Though Scotland Yard was her most common customer, many of her clients were those who would not—or could not—tell the police. Scarcely a week passed but the likeness of the Veiled Detective and the pair of twins she evidently employed in shifts (one male, one female, but never seen together) graced the pages of the newspapers.

And so a year passed, and Doyle returned to their steps again. “Have you been looking in the papers recently?” he asked, glowing.

“You know my English is still poor,” Vastra tutted. “But I do keep an ear to the ground. Do you refer to the remarkable news from Germany, with Mr. Benz and his so-called automobile?”

Doyle coughed. “The literary news?”

“Mr. Stevenson's Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?” Jenny asked. “I've been puzzling through bits of it. I find the idea of the same person capable of having the visage of a monster and the heart of an angel fascinating.” She smiled at Vastra, who merely blinked.

“I meant this,” Doyle said at last, exasperated. He produced a manuscript for their inspection. “It's my first book. Just published. About the two of you.” He paused, then remembered that neither could read very well. “Very well, then, it's called A Study in Scarlet, and I shall read it to you.”

When he had finished, Vastra and Jenny exchanged horrified looks. “Well, this settles it. We can put off our reading lessons no longer, if for no other reason than to look over Dr. Doyle's manuscripts before he publishes them.”

“You made both the main characters men?” Jenny asked, enraged. 

“You wanted to remain out of the limelight, did you not? How better to disguise you? And I certainly could not have made only one of them a woman, or my readers would suspect some romantic entanglement, which, given the subject matter, is hardly appropriate.” Vastra blinked again and Jenny coughed, and though they shouted and frothed, they finally agreed to let Doyle remain in charge of the literary end of their enterprise in exchange for a portion of the proceeds. 

***

At long last, a long, heavy package arrived with Jenny's name on the label. Vastra grinned as she watched her apprentice open a brand-new katana, custom-ordered from Japan. “After all,” Vastra said, “you'll need something more lethal than your wooden practice sword and more graceful than that machete if you are to accompany me full time,” and the rest of the sentence was lost to mortal hearing as Jenny (having lovingly set the sword down on the table) swept Vastra off her feet into an embrace and swung her in a circle. As the spin ended, their eyes met, and their lips, as if by chance, grazed against each other's. Jenny immediately blushed and the ends of Vastra's crests flared. 

“You have been practicing the arts of obtaining leverage over one's opponent, I see,” Vastra observed with a dry cough.

“Yes'm,” Jenny managed, eyes focused on her new gift. Jenny couldn't lie to herself; she did rather savor the sparring matches with Vastra, particularly the wrestling and the martial arts. She finally forced herself to think about anything other than the dry, pleasant press of scale to skin, the graceful, muscular limbs of her mistress, finally settling on the craftsmanship of blade and scabbard alike.

“Go on, then,” Vastra said. “Take it and work through your forms with it. The sooner you are used to its weight, the better.” 

“Yes, madame! Thank you, madame!” Better too formal than not enough at moments like this, Jenny reckoned, grateful for the excuse to dash off as fast as possible for the upstairs salle. 

Jenny, if possible, was even busier this year. Now that she had the knack of running a household, she was supervising the renovation of the greenhouse so that it could be used as a parlor or to meet with prospective clients. Most of the 'proper' rooms were on the main floor: kitchen, dining room, sitting room. Even something as simple as their vast library was banished upstairs next to the newly expanded salle so the two women could practice their reading without causing more scandal than necessary. The laboratory, of course, was still underground, and properly locked this time. There was running through the streets with Vastra at night, which meant she could wear trousers. She practiced shooting as well as hand-to-hand combat, though she preferred a weapon that did not require reloading. Indeed, Jenny had grown so busy that it was quite some time before she had both courage and opportunity to ask Vastra a question.

“Madame?” Vastra inclined her head as she sat. “You know how I spend a lot of time teaching you how to behave in polite society, how to read people?”

“Yes, of course, and I am very thankful for the lessons, though I confess that you are still by far the more skilled with those weapons.”

“Well, Madame, I've been thinking that I hardly know how to read you at all. For instance, what does it mean when the tips of your crests flare, just so.” Jenny walked closer, and bent slightly over Vastra, the better to examine the crests.

“It may mean many things, but most often some level of emotional embarrassment, much the same way as you have described a human blush.” Vastra looked up to meet Jenny's eyes. The tips of her crests flared.

“Do I make you blush, Madame?” Jenny asked, voice low and almost hoarse. Their lips nearly met.

“Yes,” she said simply, tilting her head up and letting Jenny close the final distance between them. 

It was several minutes before they heard the banging at the door, but Jenny managed to concoct a suitably fanciful excuse for Doyle.

***

The first wound was the hardest. The bullet had barely grazed Jenny's arm, and it did not impede her form whatsoever as she beheaded her assailant with a single stroke. But it bled out of proportion to its depth, and Vastra seemed worried that they would have to amputate until Jenny slapped her lover (with her good arm; it was starting to sting a bit) and tore off the ruined sleeve to bind her arm until they could get home. There Vastra could run the tests to assure herself that there was no breakage, no infection, and certainly no need to amputate, and then double-check the results. 

The worst part, really, for Jenny was the lost week spent first healing and then convincing Vastra to take her back out prowling. It cut into her sleep somewhat, but she wouldn't trade the thrills for anything. She could nap any time: well, theoretically. In practice she found herself learning photography and converting another old servant's quarters into a darkroom. It was getting so that guests were carefully kept to only a handful of rooms running to the front door to the greenhouse, and even that was only for more trustworthy clients.

***

Vastra finally put her foot down when Nellie, Henry, and Anaya brought word of a series of gruesome murders in Whitechapel. “Papers are calling him the Ripper,” Nellie said with a grin. “Four murders in the past five weeks.”

Vastra snatched away the newspaper accounts. “You shouldn't be reading anything so grisly as this.” She scanned the most recent article. “I must insist that you keep away from the East End during the night, all of you. Even you, Jenny.”

“What about me?” Henry asked indignantly. “Ripper's just been killing girls so far.”

“And I dress as a lad anyway,” Jenny added.

“Sensational killings such as these may spark copycats. For that matter, there is no guarantee that the Ripper, as he is called, discriminates in his targets.” Vastra laid her swords meaningfully across the table. “There will be other prey, but this one I hunt alone.” Jenny was still seething. “Besides, you need the rest...and perhaps it is time that you led your own investigation.” Jenny's face softened and Vastra couldn't help but smile. “After all, it is hardly every case which requires our combined attention.” All five of them laughed, though Henry was still not convinced.

“Ma'am, what about M.O., and killers being creatures of habit and all that? He's not going to suddenly switch to blokes all of a sudden, is he?”

Vastra closed her eyes, gathering herself, then reopened them. She laid out the gruesome photographs and sketches from the paper. Anaya gasped. “I have not investigated the bodies myself,” she flipped Nellie a few pennies, “which reminds me; when we are finished, find Doyle and impress upon him the urgency with which I wish to see those corpses. And so this is only a hasty theory. But do you recall the night we all met? The creatures which were half-ape, half-beast? Judging by the savagery of the wounds and the way that organs appear to have been removed, I fear that one of the creatures from that night may be our mysterious killer.” 

“After three years?” Anaya asked.

“Perhaps the Rani has returned. Perhaps it was badly wounded, and has only now regained its strength.” Vastra shrugged. “Until I know more, I must insist that I investigate this matter alone. Give me one month to track this foul killer.” Her four associates grumbled their assent.

Jenny wasn't thrilled to be left out just as a really meaty case fell into their laps, the sort of case where the notoriety was infinitely more valuable than any reward that might be posted. She was like a dog being thrown a bone, she knew. But, she decided as she explained to her client that, no, Madame Vastra would not be handling this case, and that, yes, she was in charge of the investigation, thank you, it was at least a very tasty bone.

It took her almost three weeks to track down the missing necklace. It would have been two if Vastra hadn't been so insistent about her catching up on her sleep—and if she hadn't been so nervous about Vastra running out alone, night after night, especially with it getting colder. Still, she burst in brimming with joy and well-rested enthusiasm, only to discover Vastra and Anaya bent over Henry, his shirt bloody. 

“Foolish boy,” Vastra swore. “I'd nearly caught up to the Ripper when you blundered in. If I hadn't been there, he might have done a better job on you, and then you'd be in the morgue. And now he knows that I am the one who is chasing him.” 

“On the bright side, I did get a good look at him. And it is a him, and a regular bloke, to boot.”

She looked up from bandaging Henry's chest. “My dear, I am afraid that you may need to spend your nights guarding our home until the Ripper is caught. It would not do for him to decide to lay a trap for us.”

“Yes, madame, of course.” It was another second choice assignment, Jenny knew, but it was at least another exciting one. And the phrase 'our home' was more than a little distracting.

Vastra sagged back onto the couch. “I am sorry; I am afraid I was a bit distracted and therefore a little rude.” She waved indistinctly with her bloody hands, and all save Henry laughed. “But he is out of danger now; how have you been?”

“Solved my first case,” Jenny said, smiling despite it all.

Vastra's eyes twinkled. “Anaya, make sure Henry is comfortable. If he feels up to it, see if the two of you can produce a sketch of the Ripper. As for Jenny and I, I have earned a bath, and she has earned a reward.”

“See you in the morning, then,” Anaya said with a knowing grin.

Nary a hair was seen of Jack the Ripper for the next week, neither by Jenny, up all night with katana and revolvers, nor by Vastra, sleek through the shadows, swords at her side. On November the ninth, Vastra heard a scream behind her, anguished and piercing until it snapped short in a gurgle. She spun, eyes wide, blades out, to see a woman, belly opened and throat slit, sliding to the ground behind her, already dead. A cowled figure stole away and she flew after him. The nerve! To kill just behind her; he would pay for his boldness, she knew. Too crowded, here, she thought as he ducked through an alley. She closed the gap steadily, strides long and even. Nothing moving in her peripheral vision: good. With a snap, her tongue struck his left ankle; he fell at once, clutching the wounded leg. He reached for a knife with his other hand; her booted foot lashed out in a stomping kick to his elbow; she heard the pop of ligaments and he screamed, letting the knife fall from his useless hand.

“Don't bother telling me who you are, or why you did it, or why you deserve mercy,” she hissed. “I don't care. I'm not the police, and I'm not the press.” He appeared to be just another ape: no trace of animal or alien influence. Still, he was certainly vicious enough to warrant the extra caution.

“But it made such a good story,” he laughed, voice tinged with pain and mania. “Everyone loves the gory details.” His voice trailed off into a cackle.

“You are nothing but a monster. You hurt a good friend of mine and butchered five women. Given that I've worked up quite the appetite,” she dragged him into an abandoned building, “I think it's about time that I returned the favor.” 

***

“Jack the Ripper's reign of terror is finally at an end,” Vastra proclaimed upon returning home.

Jenny leapt up from her sentry post. “How did you find him, madame?”

“Stringy, but tasty nonetheless.” Her grin was wicked as she doffed her cloak. 

“Someone came to pay us a visit,” she said. “It's the Doctor.” 

“Get the cases, then, Jenny.” She grinned still wider, perhaps an artifact of the hunt and kill. “We'll need the swords.” As Jenny stole upstairs to finish packing, the Doctor and Rory stepped out into the hall. “That isn't modern clothing for your time period, is it?” Her travels with the Doctor were rare, but even an untrained fashion sense like Vastra's could distinguish 1st and 21st century wear.

Rory blushed. “Erm, not as such. Thought it looked more impressive than the usual jeans and puffy vest, though.”

No banter from the Doctor, Vastra noted. Unusual indeed. “Why are you here, Doctor? One word only.”

Without hesitation: “Family.”

Vastra nodded, thinking of Henry bleeding in the sitting room, of Jenny staying up to guard their home. “I understand.”

***

The TARDIS had given them a lovely suite of rooms: comfortable bedroom, sizable bathroom, and a rather handy hybrid sitting room/office/library, affording them some privacy aboard the increasingly-crowded TARDIS. From what little Vastra knew of the Doctor's marvelous ship, she suspected that it appreciated what they were doing, even if her master was in quite a state.

“I wish that we could render further assistance to the Doctor as well,” Vastra said.

Jenny jabbed herself with her needle and swore. “Bloody hell, madame. How did you know what I was thinking?”

Vastra smiled. “Ordinarily you dislike sewing, though I cannot fathom why, since you are both proficient and efficient at the task. But now you are sewing. Specifically, you are reattaching the button which has fallen off of the waistcoat you prefer to wear when we are fighting, suggesting an urge to be on the field of battle. Also, you have been working on the task for nearly ten minutes now, often stopping and starting, and casting your eyes about the room before returning to your needlework, suggesting distraction alternating with resignation. Taken together, it is simplicity itself to see that you would prefer to take a more active role in our current mission, but fail to imagine how you could do so. And so you resign yourself to preparing as best you are able.” 

Jenny shook her head and finished with the button. “The way you can read people like that, like one of those spiritualists Dr. Doyle is always going on about, it gives me the willies, madame.”

Vastra smiled again; she liked to practice the strange gesture whenever she could. “But my dearest Jenny, I assure you that I have no special psychic faculty. When it comes to the typical ape, they are often as opaque as bricks to me. It is only your face,” and here she reached to stroke Jenny's cheek, “which I can read so well. Though I must admit a certain confusion as to your disdain for sewing.” 

Jenny sighed. “It's women's work.”

Vastra tilted her head to one side. “But we are women, are we not?” 

“That's all well and good for you, madame.” Jenny scowled. “I know you're always going on about how you're a warrior and women can do things like write stories and fight battles and own property. But you don't have to do sewing, or washing, or have babies if you don't want to. Most women like me don't have those choices. So yes, whenever I get the chance, I like to behave 'most unladylike.'” The last two words were in an extremely posh accent which made Vastra giggle.

“I'm sorry,” Vastra replied. “I couldn't help myself. And I am sorry that your society places such restrictions upon you, though I will never apologize for my own.” She leaned in to whisper. “Though I must admit I am rather fond of needlework as a useful way to keep one's armor in peak condition as well as to build the necessary dexterity of the fingers to properly wield a sword. Perhaps when we return to London, we will see about having a dress made in which you can fight if you have to.”

As Vastra spoke, a wardrobe in the corner of the room coughed open. It contained a nondescript black dress which looked at a glance to fit Jenny perfectly. “Or perhaps that errand may already be completed.” Vastra grinned. “Go on, try it on.” Jenny tossed her clothes onto the bed and changed into the necessary undergarments for the dress. “I am reminded of how much I owe the Doctor when I see you, and of how much good he has done.”

“He certainly has helped a lot of people, hasn't he?” Jenny noted as she tugged on a corset. “Oh, madame! I think these stays have been reinforced. Bet they'd stop a knife.”

Vastra permitted herself an appreciative glance. “Indeed: they seem quite formidable.” Jenny grinned despite the complicated undergarments as she fastened on her stockings. “It is times like these that I remember how much I truly owe that man. Not only my life, but something worth living for.”

“You just love me for my good looks,” Jenny teased, brandishing one of the knives she had just strapped to her upper thighs and striking a burlesque pose.

“You are quite pleasant to look at for a human,” Vastra teased back as she helped Jenny into the dress. “And here we are, part of the army he's gathering from all the corners of the galaxy. I might wish Dr. Doyle were here, to record it all.”

Jenny giggled. “Dr. Doyle scarcely believes the little things we find in London.” She opened the door to gesture at twisting corridors, claustrophobic staircases, and windows which admitted the light of alien suns. “He'd throw a fit if he stepped foot inside the TARDIS. I can barely manage m'self. Still, reckon it's the important bits I can follow. The Doctor's lost someone close to him, and we're here to get her back. There'll be fighting, most likely. And then we can go home to our own family, and helping those who need it.” She clasped Vastra's hand.

“I believe you have the right of it, my sweet, as you so often do. Shall we put your new garment to the test?” Jenny grinned and snatched up her practice sword. 

“Please,” Jenny replied, and the two strolled off, arm in arm, to find a room where they could practice.

**Author's Note:**

> I have Vastra wake up in 1879 (when some excavation for the Circle Line is being done), but this story is set mostly between 1884 and 1888, so Jenny is roughly 13-17 (with the other children slightly younger) during most of the events of this story, according to the timeline I'm working with. I have done a decent amount of research for these tales, but I'm certainly not above taking some liberties with history. 
> 
> Pablo Fanque is one of the most famous black circus owners of the time period, making his debut in 1847. Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde, and the Benz automobile all debut in 1886, the same year that A Study in Scarlet is published. The Jack the Ripper murders take place in 1888.


End file.
